


A Fire Fierce And Raging

by QueenLagertha (TwistedCrowns)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fantasy AU, Gen, Kingslayer AU, Medieval AU, Sebastian and Bucky are brothers in this fic, other characters will be added later - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:20:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22750006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistedCrowns/pseuds/QueenLagertha
Summary: The man with the metal arm barked out a laugh as he gripped the throne’s armrests and leaned forward.“You haven’t changed since last we met, have you, your majesty? I truly admire your efforts, I really do, but you should know by now that nothing is beyond me,”A small smile.“And just for the record, I didn’t take on your men alone,”
Kudos: 13





	A Fire Fierce And Raging

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!!! This is my first Winter Soldier fanfic. I decided to put some Marvel and Arrow characters into a world of my own making, so it’s not exactly canon. Also, the prologue is written from an OC’s point of view, but I’ll be writing Bucky’s POV in the first chapter. I would love to hear your thoughts on the story, so comment below and let me know what you guys think (also some feedback would be greatly appreciated)

King Andhari had never known the true meaning of fear until now.

It had all begun when he’d met the young man who’d claimed to be the prince of Zennara, a kingdom long since conquered and burned to ash by the king of Glaunia many years ago. The so-called prince seemed friendly enough, but when he’d bade him farewell and clasped his forearm, there had been something in the man’s countenance that had given him pause. Something that raised the hairs on the back of his neck and whispered to him to be on his guard.

He’d had the feeling that the prince was something else, yet what that was, he hadn’t the slightest clue. The one thing he knew for certain was that the prince was a very dangerous man, and that if he didn’t maintain a sharp eye on his surroundings, then he just might find himself lying amidst a pool of his own blood.

It was this thought alone that had led him to fortify the castle walls and increase the number of guards until the obsidian castle seemed to swarm with them. When he had expressed his fears to his closest advisors, they had scoffed and said that he was being far too paranoid, that if the prince had wanted to attack, he would have done so months ago.

Still, it wasn’t enough to dissuade him from being vigilant. Even when he was in his bedchambers, he never allowed himself to fully sink into slumber, lest the prince should slip in sometime during the night and use the opportunity to kill him in his sleep. And even though he often awoke feeling no better than he had the previous day, he knew that he would much prefer death by overexertion than to have his throat slit open while he slept.

Resting a hand atop the pommel of his sword, he paced the moonlit courtyard as his eyes flickered about, though he found his gaze lingering on the shadows along the castle walls, as though he might catch a glimpse of the nameless prince should he look hard enough. And yet, he heard and saw nothing. No menacing presence lurked in the shadows, nor did he hear any other sounds save for the click of his boots against the cobblestone beneath him.

Once he was satisfied that no one else was around, he cast a final, cursory glance around the area before he turned around and made his way back to the massive oak doors that led to the interior of the castle. Inclining his chin to the guards stationed in front, he hauled them open and slipped inside.

The castle’s interior was just as quiet as the night outside. Moonlight filtered in from the towering stained-glass windows that lined the corridor and scattered multicolored seeds of diamond fire across the ground. The sight reminded him of the trees in autumn, when the leaves changed color and fell one by one as the winter months slowly drew nearer.

Absently tapping his fingers in a staccato rhythm on the pommel of his sword, he walked until he reached the end of the long hallway and turned right, not really caring about his destination so long as the path didn’t lead him back to his own chambers. So when he found himself standing before the iron doors of his throne room, he wasn’t at all surprised. It was the only place where he felt like he could escape from the memories that tormented him day and night—A place he had come to call a sanctuary of sorts over the course of many sleepless nights such as the one he suffered now. It was here where he would often sit upon his throne and think back on all the things he’d accomplished in this life and all that still remained to be done, where he felt like he had a measure of control over the world that lay beyond these walls of stone.

Looking up at the gold sigil of the serpent that adorned the iron doors, he traced a finger down the embossed scales before he took a steadying breath and slowly pushed them open.

Little did he know that this would be the last time he ever set foot into that room.

A gust of cool air wafted over him as they swung inwards with a groan. Shafts of moonlight spilled in from the massive windows that lined the walls on either side of the great hall, revealing a spacious room with a vaulted ceiling and a cobalt blue marbled floor that made him feel as if he were standing in the midst of a tranquil sea. A violet rug lined with gold trim ran all the way from the doors to the gilded throne that sat on a dais at the very end of the room. What he did not expect to find, however, was a hooded figure sprawled across his throne, looking for all the world like he’d been waiting for some time.

The sight of this man caused him to falter and stop mid-stride in the center of the rug as a thrill of fear shot through his veins. And even though his hand shook slightly when he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword, he refused to let it show upon his face even as his gaze slid to the arm fashioned of metal. An arm that belonged to the same prince whose blue-gray eyes had gleamed with the promise of death so many months ago. And now, it seemed, he had come at last to see it through to the end.

“ _Impossible_ …there’s no way you should have been able to slip past all those guards. Only a madman would have dared to attempt such a thing!”

The man with the metal arm barked out a laugh as he gripped the throne’s armrests and leaned forward.

“You haven’t changed since last we met, have you, your majesty? I truly admire your efforts, I really do, but you should know by now that nothing is beyond me,”

A small smile.

“And just for the record, I didn’t take on your men alone,”

Almost as if on cue, another figure stepped out from the shadows behind the throne. Much like the man who sat upon it, he too wore a cloak that obscured his features, but unlike the simple black tunic and pants worn by the prince, he was clad in armor from head to toe and had an air of command about him that the other did not possess. King Andhari would have easily mistaken him for one of his guards had it not been for the sigil emblazoned upon the face of the shield he bore—the sigil of a white wolf with a crown of stars that belonged to a kingdom believed to no longer exist.

“I don’t believe you’ve met my younger brother yet. This is Sebastian, the captain of the Huntsman’s guard and one of the finest swordsmen this world has ever seen. Now, I know that you’re probably scared out of your wits, and I also know that you want nothing more than to turn around and run out the way you came in. However, I must warn you. The moment you start moving, the moment your feet begin to pound across that marble floor, Sebastian will reach you in the fraction of a second and cut you down before you can even touch those doors. So I believe that it will be in your best interest not to try anything foolish,” said the prince.

King Andhari tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword as his gaze flicked from the prince to the captain and back again. If the prince had been alone, he might have had a chance at subduing him. But to take on both at once without any guards to aid him should the need arise was a gamble in and of itself. But it was a risk he was more than willing to take.

At the sight of the blade he held in his hand, the prince tilted his head and studied it intently through narrowed eyes for a few heartbeats before he redirected his gaze back to the king and slowly rose from the throne.

“Tell me something, your Majesty. Do you honestly believe you have what it takes to best either one of us in a fight?” Asked the prince as he stepped down from the dais and removed a dagger from the folds of his cloak.

He ran a metal finger along the edge of the blade as he slowly walked toward the king. Each step he took echoed throughout the room like a death knell and reverberated through his bones as he drew nearer until they were separated by only a few feet. When he lifted his head and locked his eyes with his, they were ablaze with a blue-gray fire that would have made even the bravest of souls lose heart.

“Do you know how many kings have perished beneath my blade? Too many to count, yet they were not just ordinary kings. They were men like you who thought of no one but themselves, men who filled themselves with so much pride that they did not care about the lives of those beneath their rule, who regarded their poorest citizens as nothing more than the dirt beneath their boots. You say you care about this nation, and yet you sit upon this throne and remove the heads of parents before their children for minor offenses that did not warrant a death sentence. Those are not the actions of a righteous king. Rather, they are the actions of tyrants, and it is for that reason that I have taken it upon myself to remove those wicked kings from their thrones and appoint others more righteous than they in their stead,”

Anger flared through king Andhari at his words, and for a moment he forgot about his initial fear as he took a threatening step toward the prince and shoved his face close to his.

“Who are you to decide my fate?” He snarled, “Who are you to choose the rulers of kingdoms when you do not hold that kind of power?”

Smirking, the prince rested the edge of the dagger against his throat and brought his mouth to his ear,

“I have far more power than you can even bring yourself to imagine, and I also have men who are far more loyal to me than they are to you. Choose your men wisely, Your Majesty, for you do not know whose side they’re truly on until it is too late,”

Keeping his sword between them, he allowed a wry smile to touch his lips before he whipped around and caught the captain’s blade with the crossguard of his sword, right as the edge was about to slide across the tendons in his neck.

Seeing his chance, the prince attacked. King Andhari drove a fist into Sebastian’s jaw and shoved him away as he wrenched his sword free and whirled in time to meet the prince’s dagger.

A shower of sparks glinted and fell from their blades at they collided, the sound of steel against steel severed the silence that had lain heavily in the air like the clouds that gathered before a storm as he unleashed a flurry of furious blows, one after another after another. Yet no matter how hard or how fiercely he fought, the edge of his blade never got any closer than a few millimeters to his skin.

Filled with rage and humiliation, the king blindly increased the ferocity of his attacks until it reached a point where he could no longer control them. Instead he fought as though tormented by an unseen force, some whisper in his mind that mocked him relentlessly and further fueled his rage. He knew he had to control it before it drained him of all strength, yet he was too wound up to care—and that proved to be his undoing.

He was so worked up by his rage that he did not sense the attack until he found himself on the receiving end of the captain’s shield. The rim slammed into the bridge of his nose with such force that the sickening crunch of bone followed by the pain and stars that exploded behind his eyes were all it took to send him down onto one knee.

Blood ran down his upper lip and landed on his tongue. The sharp tang of iron filled his mouth as it slid thickly down his throat and seeped into his windpipe, sending him into a furious coughing bout that forced his body to fold in on itself and threatened to rob him of his ability to breathe.

He could sense the prince and the captain circling him like a pair of wolves as he struggled to breathe for a few heartbeats. And when the air rushed into his lungs at last, he worked his jaw and spat out a glob of blood onto the floor before he slowly lifted his head and fixed a smoldering gaze on the prince.

“What is it that you want from me? Gold? Riches? My daughter’s hand in marriage? I will surrender everything to you and more, but I only ask that you spare my life,”

Caught off guard by the king’s request, the prince blinked once, then blinked again before he tipped his head back and let out a harsh, grating laugh that raked across his bones and turned the very blood in his veins to ice. And when he spoke, his voice seethed with raw malice.

“What I want you cannot give. What I want, Your Majesty, is retribution for a wrong that was committed against me many years ago. My throne, my lands, and the very crown that was supposed to have been passed down to me were all taken by the man who was responsible for giving me this,” he said, tapping his metal arm for emphasis.

He stepped closer. Angled his head. Lowered his voice.

“The same man who declared himself Zennara’s king after he tried to have me burned at the stake. Who allied himself with other kingdoms to ensure that his reign would remain stable and who he knew he could rely on to crush any resistance should an army rise to overthrow him. He uses fear to control the populace, but soon he will know the true meaning of fear himself once he learns of the Kingslayer’s true name,”

 _When he hears_ my _name,_ is what the prince didn’t add.

At this utterance, the king’s eyes slowly widened as the realization of who he was slowly dawned on him.

“You…you’re Xerxes’ son, aren’t you? You’re James Buchanan Barnes, the one many people believed had been burned to death all those years ago by Lord Zemo,” he whispered, his face blanching.

He’d had his suspicions about the prince since the day they’d met, but he had been quick to dismiss the rumors that had been circulating in the streets. And now, when he looked more closely at his face, he could see that his likeness was a strong resemblance to that of the former king.

One moment he was staring in shock, the next he found himself choking on his blood as James’ blade flashed across his throat. The eyes of the prince were cold and unfeeling as the king slowly fell to his knees. He could feel the life slowly draining from his body as he raised his hands to his throat and pressed them against the fatal wound, as he tried to staunch the flow of blood to no avail.

He felt the crown slip from his head as he slumped to the ground, heard it clatter as it landed on the marbled floor and rolled until it came to a stop at the Kingslayer’s feet. And as he lay dying, he could only watch as the prince reached down with his metal hand and slowly lifted the burnished crown. Light glinted off its golden surface as he studied it silently for a few seconds before he turned his gaze to the dying king.

The sound of his wet, rasping breaths was the only sound that could be heard as blood bubbled in the corner of his mouth. Slowly the prince approached him until he was gazing down at him, and when he tucked the crown away in the folds of his cloak and held a hand before him, a pale blue flame materialized in the center of his palm and danced through the air like the notes of a song.

Fear speared through his heart when he saw that blue fire, a fire that burned not with heat, but with the piercing bite of a frigid winter wind. It was this manifestation of the icefire that made him realize just how much he had underestimated him—how very little he knew of the secrets that hid behind his eyes and of the ancient power that flowed through his veins.

And as the king stared at that flickering flame, it was then that he understood the true magnitude of the prince’s hatred. It was a hatred that knew no bounds—a hatred that would burn and devour any and all who dared to cross his path. And he knew that the prince would not rest until he saw his crown restored to its former glory, along with that of his throne and kingdom.

_You walk a dark path, O son of Xerxes. Be mindful that your desire for revenge does not consume you entirely._

If the prince had seen the warning in his eyes, he did not show it. He only smiled wryly at him as he threaded a line of fire around his fingers before he leaned down and whispered four words into his ear. Four words that would seal his fate forever and shed its meaning in a whole different light, and in the very depths of his heart, he knew that this would not be a merciful death.

“ _Long. Live. The King._ ”

The last thing he saw was a crown edged in blood and the retreating forms of the prince and the captain before the icefire enveloped him and plunged him into eternal darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys want to check out the songs that inspired this chapter, you can listen to them here, just copy and paste into your browser: https://m.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL6oPPEoMD2A-9ak7LzmWKR6DDzbTJJNQy


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